Frigid
by SensiblyScrewy
Summary: She had fully expected to relax, to let herself enjoy the days as she snuggled with Elliot in front of the fire. But this was not the case. Instead she felt only anxiety. Rated T for dark themes. Modern Persephone.
1. Prologue

_A/N: I disclaim anything you might recognize. Enjoy._

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It was meant to be a getaway, a second honeymoon to replace their first. A time of relaxation after a time of tension, sorrow, and anger. A reprieve, if you will. To light a lovely, warm fire while the snow and wind blew against the shutters of the cabin, rattled the windows, and moaned through the door, would be bliss after the last month and a half. She had fully expected to relax, to let herself enjoy the days as she snuggled with Elliot in front of the fire. But this was not the case.

Instead she felt only anxiety.

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_A/N: Hi there. There's a lot I want to say, but not many brain cells for me to use to say them. I'm very tired, folks. I will say that I started this months ago, and that when I started I had no idea where I was going with it. I still don't really. I want everyone to understand that these short chapters (and trust me, most of 'em are short) may not have an ending to them. This is a bit of a last resort for me- inspiration from the readers- and this may just... hang for a while after I've reached the last that I've written. But that won't happen for a while, no worries. I'm going to try and keep this going, give myself plenty of time to write some new material. _

_That's about it. This story was originally inspired by a strange nightmarish dream I had a while ago. I hope I've managed to convey the quality of it in this piece. Thanks for reading- reviews let me know I'm not dumb for posting this._


	2. To Stray

_A/N: I disclaim anything you might recognize. Enjoy._

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As they dragged the man's limp body back onto the road, his heels pulling dead leaves and melting slush with them, a chill wind blew. She looked up as she called for the others, wondering why they had not rushed to help as she and the boy had. However, she did a double take as her eyes fell upon an empty trail. Void of all beings, including her own horse along with Martin's and the man's, the path seemed eerily longer than she had remembered, as if it had grown within the last few minutes. It was then that the thought came to her, straight from one of the Grim Brother's fairy tales, like a message written in in some deep red liquid: Do not stray from the path. Images of knights who ran off in search of a white stag, never to end the chase; of little Red Riding Hood who skipped a step off the path and met the wolf; of wanderers who followed beautiful music into the forrest, wishing to find and dance with the fairies, and who never returned- all of these fled through her mind. And for some reason, even though she was well past the age of checking under her bed, she could not dispel the tingling feeling up her spine, the feeling that she was being watched.

Then there was a shout from the boy, Martin, who stood behind her with the body. She jumped at the sound and spun on the spot. Martin was backing up and his shoulder brushed hers as he passed. But she was frozen in shock and wonder. The man was no longer unconscious, and he rolled from side to side as his hands raked at his face. No, not hands: bark. Dark, thick, hard bark that was growing up through his skin, which flaked away in large rolls. It tore through his clothing with rips and the pop of buttons as they sprung off. The man screamed in agony, throwing his arms out as if being crucified. And then there came a loud _crack_- as if a large tree had just fallen- and his side jerked, folded inward on itself. His arm bent at a second, newly formed elbow with a _snap_, his leafy hand coming in to clutch at the front of his coat. His legs lurched outwards from his body, growing longer and longer still, before they too were drawn up to his chest, twitching and twisting themselves backwards and forwards, in ways she had never seen limbs bend.

Another howl was wrenched from the man's mouth and he began to tear at his clothes, ripping them away with inhuman strength. She took a step back when pieces of his thick, wool coat landed at her feet. His boots were lacerated, both a mass of shredded leather and rubber, as they had exploded, the screaming man's feet having elongated themselves to almost hoof like members. His head whipped itself up and she caught a glimpse of bright amber eyes, before with several more echoing_ cracks_ and snaps, the writhing, alternately soft pink and curdling, brown naked form in front of them crunched into itself.

She turned quickly at another strangled cry from Martin, though placing the screaming man behind her sent her hair on end. Now Martin was on the ground, but not unconscious; he was staring with wide eyes at the tall cloaked being that stood before them.

It was a man. Long, dark, tangled hair fell to his waist. His equally long and greying beard, and his slightly receding hairline spoke of age, yet the tight skin on his high cheek-bones did not. Though cloaked in a large, fraying, brown robe, his lean, pale arms were bare to the winter bite. Black, inky mist surrounded his feet and shrouded the white, glistening snow. Martin gave one more gurgling whine before being enveloped in the dark smog. He made not another utter. As a tendril of the heavy smoke wound its way around her ankle, she slipped out of its noose and backed a few steps away from the man. Whom she noted with a tiny gasp of her own, was staring at her with an unblinking, piercing, blue gaze.

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_A/N: Updates will probably not come as quick as this in the future. I felt that the first chapter should come up relatively quickly after the prologue. And to _**Caranaraf**_: Thank you for the story alert- but could I beg of you a review? :) As for the story itself, things will come slowly as we find out more about our heroine, but be prepared for some creepy images. I hope you liked it. Thanks for reading- reviews are better than the cherry on top._

_-Screwy_


	3. Agitation

_A/N: I disclaim anything you might recognize. Enjoy._

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She had never gone horseback riding in the snow before, and she found it wasn't much different if one ignored the stinging cold, the stabbing wind, and the stumbling of the horse on the hidden ice. Her hands felt frozen to the reigns, her feet to the stirrups, and her scarf to her face. But she was determined not to ask the question itching at her tongue: Were they there yet? And not because Martin, who was riding the last horse in the line up, had just done so. He spoke very fast and with a soft voice, yet though she only caught every other word, she already knew where he had been born, what his parent's names were, and the date his Jack Russell Terrier was born on. The boy happily filled in any gaps of the conversation she made. Martin was a nice boy, though, even if his mouth was continually open, and she hadn't the heart to tell him to be quiet. She enjoyed the company, Elliot having travelled his way to the top of the group.

They hadn't spoken in four days. The longest they had gone without talking to each other since their last spat- one which she decidedly did not want to repeat, but seemed bound to. For it was her fault. Undoubtedly, it was. _She_ had been the one to sleep on the couch their first night, complaining of a lumpy mattress. Elliot just couldn't understand how cold the room felt with it's pale blue walls. _She_ had been the one to decline the offer of skiing no matter how much Elliot had pleaded. He had left her to the silent house. And _she_ was the one, not Elliot, who had responded only in grunts and murmurs, thereby starting this fight of silence. The way her voice echoed in the house disturbed her, but she could not tell Elliot that.

She had always been called frigid, or cold, or just been ignored. People tended not to speak to her after being with her for the first ten minutes and she had yet to say a word. Elliot always used to find a way past that.

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_A/N: Here I am, again, asking you for a comment. I didn't mean to wait this long to update, but life jumped me unexpectedly. But here you are! I hope my, ahem, two readers enjoyed it. If you're still reading. Ahhh. I kid. Reviews are better than Thanksgiving gravy._

**Anita**_: Thank you for the review. It helped get this out at all!_

_-Screwy_


	4. Nonfiction

_Disclaimer: I disclaim anything you might recognize. Enjoy!_

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She was shaking, whether from the cold or the wintry blue eyes that bore into her own, it was hard to discern. All her thoughts had come to a screeching halt. She didn't wonder why she had not yet attempted to run away from this man- whose threatening glare pumped adrenaline into her blood. The curious disappearance of Elliot and the others were blown from her mind. His gaze portrayed a powerful, unwavering aura that she figured could very well be the cause of her trembling. She felt like she was in a dream; it was a scene from a thriller movie, a mystery book. It gave her a detached, heady feeling, as if she were watching her figure stand frozen to the ground and the other, a black hole in the dripping grayness around them, from afar. As if this wasn't really happening. But it was. The icy, numbness on her cheeks told her it was real. It was real.

And suddenly, everything snapped back. She was within herself again, looking through her own eyes. Her skin tingled, her heart leapt up in her chest, bouncing against her rib cage, and her lungs opened up, sucking the cool air into her burning body. Yet her wide eyes did not stray from this man's, this being's. Even as she began to back away, her voice searching for a holding, for the biggest yell she could manage, her eyes did not wander from the hard, chilled glare before her. She continued backwards, the man making no move of his own- she couldn't tell if he was even _breathing_- until the back of her heel met something behind her with a small thump.

Her shuffling stopped short. Her breathing increased. The body. The roaring of blood in her ears was an ocean. She had almost forgotten about him. _Is he dead? _she thought, distantly. It would certainly be easier for her if he was alive, seeing as she didn't particularly want to stick around this place any longer and a dead body was a hard thing to move. But the thought of leaving him here... with... A shiver caused her trembling to escalate as the piercing eyes narrowed, glaring still. No. Hopefully he was alive.

Stumbling slightly, she maneuvered herself to the side of the large, torn boot she had bumped into. Then she backed up slowly, keeping the body in her peripheral vision while she kept the man's eyes at the forefront. There was a deep fear within her that whispered terrible tales about what might happen- if she looked away. So she almost didn't notice, her eyes so keenly locked on the other's. But the farther she shambled past the body, the stranger it looked. It took her muddled mind a moment, but realization came to her soon enough. The pant legs lay shredded, flat on the ground. As she continued up, she saw that the ripped sweater the man had been wearing lay empty. The man was gone. Or if he was still here, he was absent of clothes. It was then that the buzzing met her ears. It came in short, angry spurts. It _came_ from the twitching lump that lay in the vanished man's deflated shirt.

She made a mistake. Her eyes automatically went to the source of the buzzing. Realizing what she had done, she glanced back, her green eyes wide, expecting pain, horror, death, a multitude of frightful things. But the man still stared, did not move an inch. Her thoughts were torn between relief and fear. She should leave. She should run, clearly this man meant her no good will. She didn't move. Carefully, hesitantly, with shaking hands, she bent down and lifted the neck of the torn sweater. Quick as lightning, the buzzing grew louder and a small, dark mass flung itself at her face from inside the shirt. As if branches or thorns, things scrapped at her face. The buzzing was accompanied by a quick, tittering tongue. She threw her arms around her head to protect herself. The buzzing flapped against her hands like the wings of an insect. A very large insect.

A strange, guttural bark sounded from behind- her mind immediately went to the threatening man- and the tapping ceased, the buzzing retreating.

One, Mississippi. Two, Mississippi.

Three, Mississippi.

Slowly, she lowered her arms, peaking carefully above and around her. When no buzzing mass went to tear at her face, her eyes travelled to the dark man. Her heart gave itself a running start before jumping up her throat. There at the corner of his mouth was a little, twisted, malicious smile. She found she preferred the cold glare.

"Persephone." he said.

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_Hiya. I'm sorry for the wait. It's been a loooong couple months for me. How did you like it? This is one of my favorite bits that I've written so far. Partly because it has a chunk of my dream from so long ago in it, but I also found that I really enjoyed writing it. Anyways, I hope everyone's holidays were good and that you enjoyed the chapter. Reviews motivate! ;)__


	5. Naive

_I disclaim._

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The lies were the worst part. Yes, she wasn't a particularly warm person, but it was most definitely the lies that broke up any relationship she might have made, friends or otherwise. She knitted a barrier around her with words, always very careful with what she said. If she lied about her vacation time, saying she had gone to Las Vegas, she made sure that there was little danger of that person finding out she had really just lain on the couch with a stack of books. If someone asked her if she was seeing anybody and she said no, that person would probably never meet Elliot or anyone that knew him. But eventually they all found out, or surmised, or just felt the oddness about her. And she could never bring up enough courage or care within her to apologize. So they drifted away, sometimes storming, sometimes quietly.

They just didn't _understand_. Her life was so exceedingly boring, so intensely mundane, that without a little excitement, without a few lies here and there, she would go completely insane. She needed the lies. Without them, her life was already written, a routine already scheduled. Now Elliot- Elliot was special. She lied to him just like all the others (she lied to everyone), but Elliot was just too... innocent to see them. So spotless, incorrupt, unsullied, that with just a tweak or two of the words, anything she said was the truth. Perhaps deep within he knew, she didn't see even now how he could not. But it remained to be seen.

At first, she had shied away from him. Where was the excitement in knowing you would never be found out? Where was the thrilling suspense before he discovered her lie, the sweet fulfillment of having fooled another? Gone. It was not there. It had vanished as soon as she realized he would always believe her. Soon, she had found him boring. Why would she want to spend time with this little man, who couldn't even tell the truth from the false? She had resented him, resented his understanding nod when she explained the reason for her silence of late was that she was upset over her recently deceased dog, when she had never owned a goldfish, let alone late, fictional Mr. Twinkie.

_What an idiot_, she thought to herself as he invited her to a Christmas party. She could have said any number of things as to why she couldn't go, even that she just didn't want to and still he would have that annoying, aggravating smile on his face. What was wrong with him? Was he that naive? She became reckless. One week her parents were dead, and the next she would be out of town for her mother's birthday.

And yet he would nod, and say "Oh, that's nice. Have a good trip." and _smile_ as if everything made perfect sense. In time it came to be an obsession with her. She started to wonder if he had some mental disability, some sort of strange amnesia. He just seemed too damn _nice_ to be real. To be actually that kind, that trusting, that honest. Who was like that? She kept away from him again, didn't like to be around him. He unnerved her. She would walk in another direction when she saw him coming, avoid all contact with him. His touch sent shock waves through her bones, shivers up her back. But he seemed to follow her; every corner she turned, he arose, as if from the shadows. It was all much too dramatic for her, the girl who stole thrills from lies. There was something wrong with this naive, naive, _naive_ boy.

And then he had kissed her. Oh, she had never been kissed before. The many boyfriends she had created, told people about, did not exist. She'd been too quiet, too cold of a person for anyone to want to date her. His lips had been warm and soft against her cool ones, his hand, so gentle when he caressed her face, and his naive eyes, so sweet when he had looked into hers. She had felt safe. Like she would never need worry about another thing again. That he would watch over her. So she had thought, _Why not?_

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_Hi, all. Just gonna... put this here... Hopefully more soon._


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